Roger's Story
by Ink Scribble
Summary: Roger hates his brother, and now that he's going home he thinks that maybe he will not have to quietly deal with it anymore. Because Roger is a hunter. (Short Drabble about Roger.)


**Roger's Story**

Roger figured he could kill his brother.

The island had changed him, he knew. Something in his character had shifted, or rather had _been_ shifted. There was this awareness, this predatory instinct making itself known. He now knew of the feeling of blood, and of the desire for it. He had learned of the power it gave him-how the connection between him and his prey snapped when he struck their life away from them. This is what the island had taught him: how to murder.

It had started small, with petty acts of cruelty. The killer instinct that is. Truly, his actions had not been that of a hunter, and more like idiotic vengefulness of a playground bully. A kick here, some sand in the face of an unguarded littl'un there. Then they, Jack and the hunters, began the hunt. It was fun, though the first kill had surprised Roger because of _all_ the blood. More blood than he thought possible just kept seeping out. It was hot, and thick against exposed, raw flesh. He thought maybe he liked hunting, and maybe picking on children was not as fun. He started to think he wanted to see all that blood again.

Most people would be frightened by this. Roger would have been, once.

Except that he wasn't. He imagined it had a little to do with Jack, who seemed to need him. However, he imagined it had a lot more to do with himself. This was probably because, he knew that somewhere deep down he had always wanted to be a killer, just a little. Up until the island he had ignored it. Killing was supposed to be bad after all. Only...it did not seem to be.

_Jack_ had not minded after all. Jack and his tribe had not thought that killing was wrong.

So maybe now Roger could get rid of his brother. Finally he would prove that he was strong. He was stronger than his brother who had never hunted, or stepped over that line drawn in blood. This time Roger had passed his sibling, and raced on ahead with bloodthirsty abandon; eager to prove that he could do whatever it took to come out on top.

Yes, he would not stand in his brother's shadow. His brother, beloved and favourite of their parents. His brother who was handsome and promising-full of potential. Everyone said so; everyone knew Roger's brother was among the best and the brightest. In comparison, it was common knowledge that Roger would never be anything but average. No one said it to his face, but Roger knew that behind their shallow smiles, and pretty masks they were thinking that he was a bit of a let down. He was a disappointment.

Still, Roger knew the truth about his brother. His brother was spoiled and arrogant, with an overblown sense of self importance. He, along with his loyal herd of friends, lorded about like kings. They demanded that everyone sing their praises. Around the teachers they simpered, and smiled graciously, but out of the sight of adults they smoked snitched cigars, and drank illicit alcohol. They toyed with the younger boys in violent games, and black mailed anyone they could, including Roger. He could never say anything, though, or he would get beaten.

Not that anyone would believe him anyway.

Maybe that was why Roger was so keen on spearing Ralph like a pig. Not only did the blonde defy Jack, but he had the same charisma as Roger's brother. It was the charm that convinced others to follow, to believe, and then tricked them right off a cliff. Roger loathed it. It made him sick to see that golden boy ordering them about and preaching about order.

However, Ralph escaped from Roger, because the navy officers had come. Now all the boys, freshly cleaned and dressed in borrowed clothes that dwarfed them even further, were eager to go home. They did not look like wily hunters anymore, but _weak_ little children. They were teary eyed and all too happy to forget everything that had happened.

Roger was not so ready to forget though.

Crouching next to Jack, who had a sour look on his face, Roger felt the last shreds of power slipping through his fingers. He didn't like it. On the island he had a place to belong, and a role to fill. At home he would be back to parents who did not want/need him, and a brother who pushed him around. It was almost like Roger was getting crammed back into a mould that he no longer fit, and that he did not want. He was not willing to just leave everything behind like that.

Roger's hand curled, as if around a spear sharpened at both ends.

No, he was not going to be scared of his brother anymore. He was the hunter now.

* * *

**Author's Note**: So my English teacher gave everyone in my class a different assignment, and mine was to write Roger's story. Originally this was supposed to be his version of what happened on the island, but then I asked if it could be his past. Then it sort of... Became this. Anyway, I hope you like it.


End file.
